Page 96 of Sunday Morning

I enjoyed touching myself, even if, according to my parents, it disappointed Jesus. I liked brushing my hair and rubbing lotion on my legs too. What was the big deal?

Isaac released one ankle at a time and crawled up the bed, settling on his stomach between my spread legs. He kissed my fingers as I slid them between my legs. His tongue stroked my flesh, and he sucked one of my fingers into his mouth and hummed.

My other hand rested on his head, and I spread my legs a little wider. The feeling left me speechless and breathless, so I knew it had to be a sin. I bargained with myself. If I could spend the next three days letting Isaac do that to me as much as possible, I would spend the rest of the summer on my knees, clutching a Bible, begging for forgiveness.

Isaac was so,sogood at making me orgasm (better than me), so I removed my hand and clawed the bedsheet beneath me. What he did to me after our shopping trip was great, but this was mind-blowing.

My knees collapsed inward. “Isaac …” I couldn’t take it. I don’t know if it was the alcohol or just my first time having oral sex, but I needed him to stop because it was almost too sensitive, but when he started to pull back, I realized I didn’t want that either.

“N-not yet … just …” I curled my fingers and scratched at his head to keep him there as unrelenting waves of pleasure spread in all directions.

This is Heaven.

He chuckled before kissing my inner thigh. “Sleep, now. Okay?”

I murmured a lazy “Okay,” and rolled to my side, curling up in a ball as he pulled the sheet over my body. I couldn’t wait to tell Heather.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

LOVERBOY, “ALMOST PARADISE”

I peeled openmy eyes and glanced at the clock: 11:08 a.m.

“Isaac?” I said in a weak voice.

The pillows and sheets of the other bed were tangled. He slept by himself. I felt a pang of disappointment. When I made it to my feet and winced from my headache, I used the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Then I slipped on the white T-shirt poking out from his duffle bag and peeked through the curtain.

Isaac was in his jeans and boots, no shirt, staring at the sky and smoking a cigarette. I opened the door, and he glanced over his shoulder, giving me a slow inspection.

“Morning,” he said.

“Thought you quit.”

He shrugged. “I did.” He sucked on the cancer stickone last time before tossing it onto the ground and extinguishing it with his boot. “There.” He smiled. “I’m quitting again.”

I frowned.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” I stepped aside to let him back into the room.

“The look my mom gives me when she sees me smoking.”

“The look that says she doesn’t want her son to die of cancer? How dare she love you like that.” I closed the door.

He laughed, plucking another T-shirt from his bag and pulling it over his head. “Do you love me? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

I wrinkled my nose. “No. I just think it’s a disgusting habit.”

“Well, good thing you’re not the one doing it. And neither am I, now that I quit.” He made his bed.

“I’m going to shower. What are we doing today?”

“It’s a surprise.” He started making my bed too.

“Well, what should I wear?” I fished out underwear and a bra from my backpack.

“Shorts and tennis shoes.”

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